Voices in the Water
by Missy Mouse
Summary: A continuation of some of my oneshots. More info inside. Set after the events of DMC. Spoilers. Elizabeth undergoes realisations and painful memories of her actions.
1. Truth

Hi!

A lot of people (well ok, a couple) have asked about updates or continuations from my group of one-shots. Well... here it is. Officially I suppose this carries on from the five, but it isn't amazingly necessary to read those first. Also, this story will only draw on elements from some of the one-shots; namely 'Parallels', 'Betrayal' and 'Spiders'. I'm afraid I don't see much of an input from Captain Jack or Norrington in this particular story... Sorry guys! But you never know. It may happen... :-s.

That said... enjoy!

* * *

Voices in the Water

They slept in Tia Dalma's village that night. At least, most of them slept.

Elizabeth lay awake and listened to the water sucking at the stilts of their hut. She listened to the snores of the men. She counted the rhythms, the tones and variations. Like voices in the night. After a while she realised there was one missing.

She sat up on the simple bunk, and looked around. Several bodies lay, breathing and snoring with varying degrees of volume. How did they sleep? Was there magic in the drinks the witch woman had given them? Sleeping draught?

But if so, why did her dreams haunt her? Why did she sit restless and unable to sleep or think, while they slumbered so enviously? She curled up, hugging herself. She felt dirty, and evil. She felt like a pirate.

Had he not called her one himself? But so were they, his loyal crew, and yet they slept. Were they not chained up with sorrow, did guilt not grip in chains round their heads, like a crown of burning metal? She stared out into the gloom.

Her breath caught when she saw another figure, also sitting upright. Watching her. Its eyes were discernible, not because of a dim light, or their shining reflection of a convenient moonbeam. She saw them because they were darker than anything else in the room.

"Will?"

It came out as a whisper. He didn't reply, didn't acknowledge he'd even heard her. His only action was to stand and leave the shack for the thin veranda outside.

The air was cool and it cut into her fragile bubble of existence. It was more real than her whole day so far. Here in this ethereal twilight, things were certain. He had his back to her. She hugged herself tighter. Despite the cooler evening, the only chill she was fighting off was the one coming from inside.

"Will?"

Still he ignored her.

"Will, I… I don't love him, Will."

Any other man would have spun to face her, his eyes angry and his mouth twisted with fury. Will did nothing, except grip the bamboo rail tighter as he stared out over the waters.

"That has become blindingly apparent."

Elizabeth had been preparing her speech. How she would dismiss any feelings at all as an infatuation, how her heart belonged only to Will… it died in her mouth, slunk back and clogged her throat.

"What?"

"You chained him to his sinking ship, a ship about to be eaten by the Kraken."

His voice was so level it terrified her more than outright anger. Anger she could fight back against, rally against. She could be aggressive against anger, or plead like a weak little girl. Level calm left her no option but to face fire with fire. But she could not be calm. She trembled and shook.

"Will! I had to… We had to escape!"

"Yes. Well done, Elizabeth. You are a master of self preservation."

Only now did he turn to look at her, and he was not angry. He was saddened and disgusted.

"What have you saved? We are bound to search him out! And you cannot sleep for the evil deeds you have done!"

The tears beaded and fell, silent but constant. His gaze softened, if only a little.

"And do you know what else, Elizabeth?"

She shook her head, tears flying, and noted with alarm the shininess in his eyes; tears waiting to fall. He smiled. A sad, lonely, bereft smile.

"You are a liar, sweetest Elizabeth."

"No!"

She reached out for him, but he caught her hands, squeezing them gently, his smile unfaltering, tears still unshed.

"Yes. You are a liar. You are not, have never been and never will be blindingly apparent. You love him."

Her eyes widened. He felt her hands go slack in his. Her mouth opened and shut, and he watched her try, but fail, to speak out. The tears fell thicker, faster and she weakened, sagging with the relief of someone knowing what she could not believe. He dropped slowly to his knees with her, still holding her outstretched hands.

"Tia Dalma told me about the compass."

Her head, which had drooped so she gazed at the swirling water, flicked back to Will's face.

"She…"

"She told me, yes. Where did it point, when you held it?"

She stared at him. This conversation… it was wrong. Why did he not berate her? Why did he not beg her to reconsider? Her mouth was dry but her throat was thick and damp with the crying.

"It… it pointed to the chest."

Will did nothing. Just watched her.

"…At first." She paused guiltily to look at him. "Jack said that, more than anything, I should want a way to save you…" A shadow passed quickly across Will's face, but it left in seconds.

"… But then… Then…"

She couldn't finish. It was too ridiculous a story. And he knew it all too well anyway. She sat up straighter, tried to pull herself together. She had weakened and fallen, but now she knew she was stronger. She had somehow let the infatuation escape.

"I don't love him, Will."

He stood, but let go of her hands, and did not help her up with him. She watched, slightly bewildered. His unshed tears had gone, and now he was as dark as the inside of the hut. His smile had vanished.

"We both know that's a lie. But you want him, whether you love him or not."

He walked slowly away, back into the hut. As he reached the door opening, Elizabeth turned and called out his name. He stopped, and looked back at her.

"Why did you want to know which way the compass pointed?"

Indeed, why would he? It bewildered her. Has he not suffered at her hands enough? Is he a glutton for emotional punishment? His smile returned slightly, and if she let her fancy fly, the unshed tears return to his eyes.

"I didn't. But I needed to know how you felt. I needed to know what you deny, and seem ignorant of."

Her eyes questioned him.

"The truth, sweetest Elizabeth. Only the truth."

He went back inside, swallowed into the gloom. Elizabeth turned back to the water, only a little better for the truth, as he called it, being outside of her at last. The last few days had shaken her beyond her limits. She roamed among the dragons and monsters on the un-chartered edges of the map. She didn't know her own mind anymore.

She didn't even know what was 'the right thing'.


	2. Dreams

Hey again.

Well, there seems to be some confusion amongst my... one reviewer hint hint. This is not a one shot, see it has a second chapter, see, see? I actually posted a story instead of one shots. Rare, I know. So yeah... more to come hopefully.

Also, apologies for Tia Dalma's written accent - try as I might this was the best it ever got.

Disclaimer: Not mine. Sadly.

* * *

It was still dark when Elizabeth screamed in shock and nearly fell into the water. 

Tia Dalma caught her arm and clamped a hand over her mouth. Elizabeth struggled until she saw who it was. Then she lashed out. The mystic laughed quietly and released her.

"You do not like you bed, liddle spider?"

Elizabeth stared at her. Tia smiled a secretive smile.

"No, its fine. I just… can't sleep."

"Guilt affects us all, who chooses to carry et."

The sharp intake of breath made Tia smile even more. She was not a trained killer, then. But Tia Dalma did not need tricks to see that. The girl was like the sea; in small amounts as transparent as air, but after a long time, or when she was powerful, as hard to read as storm tossed waves. Now she was weak and open to even the most incapable mind reader.

"What do you want?"

Now she was defensive. She liked being the only one privy to her thoughts, and resented being peered at.

"Nothing. Ai only come here to offer some advice."

Elizabeth turned to her. The woman was almost a mirror of Jack; the braids, the hair and the wild clothing. Like Jack, she knew more than she let on. She was not easily deceived. Elizabeth faltered. Unlike Jack, in that respect then.

She resolved to listen. She would not sleep this night, and any advice was welcome. That of Tia Dalma may be more useful than anybody else's.

"You know, then?"

"Yes. Et blazes from you eyes. You cannot contain et."

Elizabeth was not as surprised as she felt she ought to be. It seemed that everyone knew more than her.

Tia Dalma shifted position next to her.

"I ave been tol' that many people see tings in the water."

Tia Dalma stood, a now towering figure in beads and baubles. She paused a moment, watching the ripples herself.

"Et seems to me that a creature of de sea may be found there, hmmm?"

Elizabeth watched the water too. It rippled and swirled with unseen fish, and shook as half submerged leaves wavered in the breezes. She looked up beside to see her companion, only to find her gone.

She was alone once more on the veranda.

She watched it for over an hour, and saw nothing. Clearly the mysteries black liquid of the bayou did not welcome such an evil soul as hers. As the birds called in the far away night-time depth of the jungle, Elizabeth lay down by the wooden bars of the veranda fence, and wept.

She cried for the crew who were lost that day. She had never seen so many honest souls dead, and wondered what power had deemed to keep her alive. Their gruesome fate had been lost among the terror and confusion of the attack, but now it was stark in isolation. Recollections of last looks and faces added fuel to her tears, and she mourned them, if no one else did.

She cried for Will. He deserved nothing of the last few days. His only crimes it seemed, were his father's identity, and his choice of fiancé. He was no pirate; the ex-commodore made a better rogue than he. Even her father, the respected Governor Swann, had performed more acts of piracy in the last few days than Will. Why he stayed, mystified her. Or perhaps not. He was an honourable man, sworn to rescue his father. He was caught up with pirates, but that was mere misfortune rather than design.

Finally, as the darkness silenced even the animals of the night, and mist deadened the weaker flames on some of the huts, she cried for Jack. Poor deceived Jack. He, who she had cursed as a coward as he left, then rejoiced in as a hero as he returned. He, who she had loved with a kiss, before betraying him with a lie.

"_I'm not sorry."_

Oh, but she was now. Oh so sorry as her eyes emptied her out, yet failing to cleanse her. She knew she could cry till she was too weak to cry any more, but it would never be enough. She was too much a pirate for his, and even her own good. Yet she was not pirate enough to withstand the consequences.

She fell asleep watching the inky blackness reflect the perfect moon above her.

Elizabeth Swann dreamed.

She dreamt that the bars of the veranda were made of metal not wood. She dreamt that she saw the moon through a window high up. She dreamt the rough weave of wood below her became cold stone. She dreamt she was standing.

The cell was like those in Port Royal. Was she home? She found herself alone and lingering in the corridor. Bars surrounded her, but they did not fence her in. She was on the outside looking in. She was not suffering for what she had done. _Oh God, she knew what she would see_…

She found herself stepping towards the bars on her right, her body turning, but not under her control. She caught the bars in her fingers, feeling her canvas-wrapped plait thump gently against her back as she moved. It was all so _real…_

The cell was not empty. The prison was well lit, and she could see a brown coat, tan boots and grey trousers. And that infernal hat.

"Jack?"

It was a hushed whisper, disbelieving. If she spoke too loud, the walls would shatter and break, and surely take him with them. His hat rested over his face, obscuring all but his mouth. He smirked.

"Pirate."

His voice was cracked, and as he lifted his hat away, she gasped. No horrid disfiguring scar. No bleeding, open wound. No, something far worse.

His kohl had vanished.

He was not Captain Jack Sparrow anymore. He was not whole, looking like that. It un-nerved her. His eyes still danced with the torchlight, but they were saddened. She clung tighter to the bars, willing them, and everything else, into existence.

"Pirate."

His smile was golden as always, but it didn't quite reach his eyes. Elizabeth found herself so full of all her questions, yet unable to settle on one. He was here, unreal but here at least. She was conscious of wasting a chance, but still felt constrained. Finally, a question surfaced.

"Where are we?"

"Looks like a prison to me, love."

He laid his head back against the wall, and she noticed how he didn't much move his arms or body. As if he couldn't. As if he was injured. Certainly with his eyes lacking their adornments, he looked weaker somehow. Vulnerable. It scared her. She was unused to the infamous Captain Sparrow being so much at her mercy.

"Jack… I lied to you."

He chuckled quietly, his eyes closed, head back against the wall.

"No! I mean… Yes. But… Well, no, no that wasn't a lie!"

Her own sureness surprised her. Jack opened his eyes, turned his face toward her.

"Was it not, Miss Swann?" A wicked, teasing grin.

"It… It… It was a kiss goodbye, Jack. I knew what I was going to do. And I did it. And I lied about not being sorry. That _was_ a lie. But the kiss wasn't…"

"I know love." He smirked, and he was so much like his old self that she nearly forgot where they were and why. Wherever it was. "You're a very bad liar."

"Oh, am I indeed?"

Haughty indignation. She didn't like being told she was bad at anything. Especially when she wasn't sure what he meant. Knowing Jack, confusion was intended.

"Your William's a very lucky man. I hope you're very happy." He waved a hand in her vague direction as his head turned away. "Have plenty of drinks at the wedding to remember me, savvy?"

"We're going to rescue you, Jack! We're going to save you!"

"Oh. How nice."

"You'll _be_ at my wedding!"

Even though she couldn't see it, she _felt_ his slight grin tug the corners of his mouth up.

"'Spect I will, love."

With horror she saw the walls fading, and the image falling away from her. Dawn in the bayou flooded into her vision, and she sat up with a gasp on her lips, and dried tears on her cheeks.

It was only as she looked out across the water, a cool breeze waking her up fully, that she wondered just what he had meant.


	3. Reputation

Hi!

Thanks to all my reviewers, you guys cheer me up no end when I see my inbox. Here is the third installment. Sorry for the wait - I was on me hols.

Disclaimer: Characters and places so far belong to the mouse.

* * *

Somehow, things were different. 

She was no longer Elizabeth Swann. She was someone else, mysterious and powerful. Her consciousness seemed to float just above herself, watching the men step round her. She sat still and straight, calm and serene. A peaceful rock in a stream filled with frenzy and high emotion.

She noted with amusement how some of them crossed themselves. Others cast fearful glances.

She was no longer the little girl that had sailed from England. That had survived skeletal pirates and Aztec Curses. She was the woman who had faced the Kraken. Who had murdered the charmed Captain.

Wary respect surrounded her. The men feared her, and in a strange detached way she revelled in it.

"Ah, a fellow mutineer, eh?"

Her calm broke. It was a façade she could hold up well, but not under such an insult.

"I beg your pardon, Mr Barbossa?"

"Captain." He smiled a rotten, mocking smile. Elizabeth found herself half tempted to ask the whereabouts of his ship. But the only reply to that she could envisage was Jack's easy: "I'm in the market, as it were." To hear anything else would ruin her memory. So she stayed quiet.

"I hear you've been… less than faithful, recently. To more'n one man, by all accounts. Seems odd to me."

He began to circle her, and with some amusement she noted his trademark apple, held delicately between grubby fingers.

"Seems odd, tha' a noble lady of standin' decides to take up with a rabble like this. But I could accept that, Miss Swann. There's others like you, done the same. Few o' them betrayed quite so many though. If you're not careful, lass, we'll be callin' you 'Jezebel'."

That insult did her less damage. She felt strangely attracted to the idea that she could gain a reputation. A feared reputation, not one for the most fainting accomplished in a corset. Or a reputation for being pretty. No, one that had value, from the lowest peasant to the wigs in the Navy. That all could know her, many fear her, some idolise her, while others sought to bring her down.

They would have heard of her.

"Maybe you will, _Mr_ Barbossa."

She was not afraid of him. Not anymore. He should be dead, and that at least was reason to view him with something akin to awe. But she let it wash over her instead. She accepted it, and saw that there was little else to fear. Yes, he could handle a sword, but so could she. Yes, he could Captain a ship, but she felt sure that, given a fair crew she could too. If not equal yet, they were no longer at opposite ends of the scale.

She stood to face him. The calm was transforming into burning ambition and a glowing feeling of power. She had been in a strange transition for the last few hours, maybe the whole day. Now she emerged, like a butterfly crawling from its cocoon to spread its wings.

"An' you'd like that, would ye lass?"

"I think I could survive it."

"Aye. I think ye could." He regarded her thoughtfully. She'd been proud and confident when he first met her. Now there was substance. The pride gave way, not to weak, frail bones and lace, but honed steel and a leather pistol holster. The arrogantly posed chin and the flashing eyes were no longer a brave front to confuse her kidnappers. They were fuelled from inside.

"So, lass. Tell me. How does it feel to know ye'll be languishing in the deepest circle of Hell?"

Elizabeth stared at him.

"'Hell is reserved for mutineers'. Jack's own words, so one o' my men told me. Lookin' forward to it lass?"

"I didn't commit mutiny."

"Well… same outcome. Though I must say lass, I bow to you for sheer, untainted style."

Elizabeth shot him a look.

"How do you know?"

"That Gibbs talks enough for a boat full o' housewives. An' young Mr Turner let some of it slip. The only survin' victim o' yours' account let me think Gibbs wasn't lyin'. Ye be quite the Jezebel, hurtin' two men at once."

"I didn't betray Will."

Barbossa chuckled dryly, and looked at her with an odd look on his face. It took seconds for the blush to rise slightly in her cheeks. Strange how she'd almost forgotten her conversation with Will. How she'd forgotten her feelings that morning upon waking and finding the cell of her dream, and its occupant, only mist and fantasy. But she could not be weak now.

"I don't love him."

"No, that's what the lad seems to think."

"No! Captain Sparrow. I don't love him."

"You're a master of your art, Miss Swann. You've got betrayal to perfection, and I always thought I was good. Even your own cheeks have learnt the trick. It's a fine skill to have. Come in handy in ye new career, I'll wager."

She could feel the burn in her cheeks beginning to be matched by the burn of anger in her stomach.

"And what career is that may I ask?"

As if she didn't know. As if she hadn't known before Jack rowed away. Before she kissed him.

Before he named her for what she was, and would become.

"Your grand career as a pirate, lass. Ye makin' a fine job o' it so far."


	4. Hat

Hey!

Yup. Two chapters tonight. Go me woot, woot. ;-)

Thanks to all my lovely reviewers. Give yourselves cookies.

And in response to ChewedGum's very prompt review; Yes, Lizzie sure is shaping up to be a badass. What will she do next, I wonder? ;-)

Disclaimer: Not mine.

* * *

Elizabeth had the distinct feeling of a carpet being pulled out from underneath her. All her boldness and banter with the despicable Barbossa of the morning seemed to be as waste. That day faded past like smoke. Elizabeth haunted the bamboo walkways like a ghost. Men avoided her gaze as though she was just that; many of them had seen right through her. She was the unofficially unmentioned crewmember. They needed all the help they could get, and yet no task was assigned to her, and she was not involved in their plotting and scheming.

It was driving her mad.

If she did not help rescue him then all her guilty thoughts and private apologies were for nothing. She must be the leader, who guided the tired but determined crew, to death or glory.

Not the silent wench in the corner whom everyone ignored.

Even the children in Tia Dalma's village seemed to be mindful of her reputation. They watched her, wide eyed and silent. Their mothers clutched them tight, and led them away. So this was her reputation. An aristocrat gone to the bad. A story to get children to behave.

By the time the evening birds had begun their calling, Elizabeth was quite at the end of her tether. In a fury she sought out Gibbs, and found him enjoying a foul smelling pipe with some other men from the crew.

"Mr Gibbs! I will not drift about any longer! Let me do something!"

Gibbs fixed her with an odd gaze; half disgust, half fear.

"Don't ye think you've done enough, Miss Swann?"

She had no answer for that. She stuttered but no words assembled themselves. Gibbs turned away and took another drag on his pipe.

"Be grateful ye'll be coming at all, lass. If t'was me, you'd be on your way back home. But Mr Turner won't hear o' that."

"Will?"

"Aye. He don't want ye travellin' back alone. The lad's in a right funny mood, though."

Gibbs turned back toward her slightly. Elizabeth fought the blush, but the other crewmembers would not look at her, and even if they did, she doubted they knew. But Gibbs… _He knows_.

"Must be the shock of losing Ja-, the Captain."

"If'n you think that, Miss Swann, you're a bigger fool than all o' us poor souls put together."

With that he turned away once more, the conversation ended.

At first, she took this as upsetting. She felt once more lost and sad. She returned to the place where she had spent her night, and stood, leaning against the wall. But it took mere minutes for her to change viewpoint. Pirates were not this easily disheartened. Gibbs had not upset her. He had snubbed her. And now, as in every upper-class party she'd ever been too, she would play the part of the haughtily offended victim. Pirate style.

"A hat?"

"Yes, Tia Dalma. A hat."

Tia Dalma raised her eyebrows. Men visited her to purchase many things, nearly all occult. She sold love potions, lucky charms, and more recently un-dead monkeys. Not hats.

"Do you not have any hats?"

"Ai'm sure ai may do."

Slowly, she began to search. Eventually, she found a rather battered tri-corn, with thick black stitching around the edges.

"This! This is a truly great hat."

Elizabeth took it and examined it. She looked up at the jangling witch-woman suspiciously.

"It looks like a very old piece of low quality leather that has seen better days to me."

Tia grinned.

"Ah, you be a sharp woman, Miss."

"How much?"

"Twenty gold pieces."

Elizabeth said nothing.

"Fifteen gold pieces."

To Tia's excellent eye, Elizabeth looked worried. She didn't have fifteen gold pieces. She didn't have any. Tia cocked her head on one side. Despite her rather dubious actions, there was something likeable about the girl. She had spirit.

"Tell you what. Ai'll accept a trade."

Elizabeth looked unsurely down at herself. She wore no jewellery. Carried nothing valuable.

"What of?"

"Your hair. Ai find et good practice to make thread from et for my charms. Agreed?"

Elizabeth reached back and felt for her plait. A thought struck her.

"All my hair?"

"Hmmm. The entire plait. Nothing more, nothing less."

If only she'd managed to keep hold of her other hat. But it was gone now. Her plait was a tiny sacrifice. It wasn't as if it wouldn't grow back. Yet somehow Elizabeth felt it was worth more than the previous amounts of gold. Her hair had come a long way with her. Still, she needed this hat.

"Done."

Will found himself restless that night. He paced the verandas, thinking over the plans to find Jack. Yet they were butted aside constantly by thoughts of his father. He felt every second was being wasted here in the bayou. Plotting to find Jack while Jones's heart was God knows where, being used for anything but Bill Turner's benefit. Will was so engrossed in his thoughts that he didn't hear the approaching footsteps until they were almost upon him. Looking up he saw Elizabeth, striding purposefully past, an unfamiliar hat upon her head.

"Evening, Mr Turner."

Her voice was light, but on the serious edge of cheery. For a few blissful seconds, Will forgot yesterday's conversation and its cause.

"Good evening, Elizabeth. Why 'Mr Turner'?"

She stopped in front of him, and gave him a wondering look. His memories returned.

"Evening, Miss Swann."

He sounded resigned, slightly angry. His face set, a slight scowl suggested upon his features. He watched her back as she walked away. Then realisation hit him.

"Wait! Your hair!"

"Yes, Mr Turner?"

She turned her head slightly.

"Where is it?"

"On my head. Where I usually keep it."

"No. I mean your… plait."

"Oh. I sold it. If you want to buy a lock of it, I believe Tia Dalma can be quite reasonable."

She left him standing, gaping and amazed.

It was very wrong of her. As she rounded the corner though, joy filled her and she nearly floated off the walkway. She was strong, and she was powerful. It was wrong to feel so good at his shock but she felt it anyway. If he would persist in believing her hopelessly in love with Jack, then she would persist in being curt with him.

Because she was a pirate, free to do what she damn well liked.


End file.
